In The Snowstorm
by MisguidedGhostTwilighter
Summary: Eight people clustered together in the small house, waiting out the snowstorm. It would be a few days before the weather improved. However, a lot of things can happen in an enclosed space in the time span of just a few days.  ALL HUMAN.FEMMESLASH.AxI.RxT.
1. Chapter 1

_In the Snowstorm_

_Summary: _

Eleazer, Carmen, Vasilii, Tanya, Kate and Irina, plus two lost travellers: Alice and Rosalie. There were eight people clustered together in the small house, waiting out the snowstorm. It would be a few days before the weather had improved enough for them to get outside. However, a lot of things can happen in an enclosed space in the time span of just a few days.

_Chapter One:_

The snow was whirling around outside like a thousand tiny, violent ballerinas. It bounced off the windows and tumbled to the ground, only to be scooped up again in the powerful wind and thrown into a wild, crazed waltz in the ballroom of the sky.

At least, that was how Tanya thought of it as she watched through the window of her family's home. They lived in Denali, Alaska, so snowstorms and cold, icy weather of all kinds were ordinary for them. And, to some, really annoying.

Take Kate, for example. She's Tanya's twin sister and, in all twenty three years of her life, she has never romanticised anything in the way Tanya does. Tanya sees the snowstorm as a rapid, aggressive dance; Kate just sees it as something that stops her going out, and keeps the whole family holed up in their tiny, wooden hut on the outskirts of the village.

There were six of them living there: Tanya and Kate, their twenty five year old sister Irina, their thirty one year old brother Eleazer and his wife, Carmen, aswell as their three year old daughter Vasilii. Their mother, Sasha, who had bought the house with the expectation of just two children, had died just a few years ago, the day after Vasilii had been born.

It was for that reason that they couldn't bring themselves to move out of the cramped house that was really too small for all of them.

Kate was frustrated. She'd been planning on going down to the village today, and staying over at her boyfriend, Garret's house and playing video games. Now, the swirling snow and whipping winds had rendered her a prisoner in her own home.

Carmen was perfectly content, which was her default state. She was happy to be at home, with the large family. She was the only one who didn't feel at all bothered by the tiny size of the house: she thought it was cosy. Carmen was like a cat: beautiful, elegant, and able to wish for nothing more than people who loved her, a warm bed and a blazing fire in the hearth.

Right then, she was sitting in a large armchair in front of the fire, with her daughter on her lap. She was plaiting the little girl's long, curly dark hair, and saying things about how gorgeous she looked. It was true: the three year old child was undeniably cute and pretty. She had round cheeks and her Spanish mother's tanned, smooth skin. She had inherited her father's green eyes and her mother's long, curled lashes, aswell as her father's straight, white teeth. Her hair hung in black ringlets; the colour was form her mother, but the curls from her father, whose hair was a wild, curly mop on top of his thin, pale face.

Irina was nearly as contented, but in a different way. Whilst Carmen got her joy from being surrounded by people, Irina got hers from isolating herself. Today, she was lying flat on her back on her bed, with her iPod plugged into her ears. It was playing Evanescence's album, Origin; with its mournful melodies and high, ringing notes, it matched Irina's personality and appearance perfectly: stunning and haunting with pale skin and chiselled cheekbones; feline, pale blue eyes and long, straight, white blonde hair.

In contrast to Irina's silence, her elder brother Eleazer was always making noise: he exclaimed about everything. At that point, whilst his sisters were either restless, day dreaming or intense, he was crying out from the kitchen about the food he was cooking. He was a chef, and an extremely passionate one at that. He was like the oil spitting in the pan: sudden and loud. His wiry form jumped about the kitchen, rapidly slicing, then stirring – never spilling a drop, despite the speed.

It was into this home of shockingly different and yet emotionally close individuals that two lost tourists wandered. Their names were Rosalie Hale and Alice Brandon, and they were in Alaska because they were travelling the world for their gap year. A gap year that had, so far, lasted about three years. When they'd started out, they'd been eighteen; now, they were twenty one, but not a year more mature or sensible. In fact, if anything, they'd become even wilder and even more rebellious.

They struggled through the raging winds and snow, giggling as they clung together and fought to keep their more-fashionable-than-warm coats tight around them. Rosalie was wearing stiletto, thigh high black boots over thin purple tights and short, black jumper dress, a tailored blazer and a large, purple and blue diagonally striped silk scarf.

Alice was dressed just as impractically in pink brogues; knee-high, candy-striped socks; a mid-thigh, floral, wrap around dress; and a thin, pale pink jacket.

They weren't wandering aimlessly, though, as they slowly forged a path through the attacking snowstorm: they were aimed for the tiny wooden hut, whose lights they could see through the blizzard. When they finally reached it, they were purple with cold, their limbs were aching with effort and their skin was stinging from the wind.

However, they were still laughing as they struggled to knock on the door with their numb knuckles. They nearly fell into the warmth when the door was opened by a plump, thirty year old Spanish woman with a toddler by her side. Her expression was a strange mixture of a confused frown and a welcoming smile.

She ushered them inside, touching their frozen hands an d murmured concerned words.

"Eleazer," she called in a thick Spanish accent. "Make two cups of cocoa with our guests."

"Oh, but of course!" he exclaimed, and there was a sound of running water and pans clattering together.

_I've never heard anyone make so much noise making cocoa, _Alice thought, smiling, as the Spanish woman, who'd introduced herself as Carmen, handed her and Rosalie a thick blanket each.

When the two strangers had arrived, Tanya had looked away from the dancing, pirouetting snow and was now watching with curiosity as Carmen buzzed around, being hospitable and Vasilii chattered away to them in her high, sweet voice, which was a weird fusion of Spanish and American accents.

It was clear to Tanya that the pair weren't from round here. Not only did she know everyone in the village, there clothes were like nothing worn or sold in Denali. The two strangers both had pale skin and were shivering immensely. Tanya couldn't' help but notice, as she studied them and tried to figure out their story, that they both looked shocking different. For starters, one was less than five foot tall, whilst the other was nearly as tall as Irina, how stood at six foot one.

The next difference was their hair: the short one had spiky, short black hair, whereas the tall one had long, wavy blonde hair. Next were their facial features: the blonde had a long, thin, straight nose, dimpled, pink cheeks and full pink lips; but the other girl had a tiny, heart shaped face, a pointy, elfin nose and thin, cupid's bow lips. Then there were the clothes: the blonde wore dark colours had a slight rock-chick look about her; the elfin girl wore pink and other sweet, candy colours. Finally, their attitudes were very different: the blonde was slightly hostile and arrogant, and it was clear that she knew how sexy she was; the other girl was just like her clothes: sweet, innocent, girly and childlike.

Tanya couldn't help looking at the blonde. Her arrogance intrigued her, and – as she so often did – Tanya wondered what her story was: what had caused her to appear so hostile? The blonde girl was so closed up that Tanya couldn't help but long to unravel her; to find out her secrets and see past the cold – if attractive – exterior.

Then the girl noticed her staring. She turned her head towards Tanya, sizing her up with her hard, sharp eyes. She took in how Tanya was sitting curled up on the window seat; she took in her long, thin, pale ginger hair and her small, freckled face; she saw her small, pale mouth and her large, pale blue eyes.

She decided that this girl, with her fragile form and curious expression, was no problem. She was quite plain looking, so she was no opposition to Rosalie, and Rosalie knew it. The girl's curiosity worried her, though; curious people were always bad news for Rosalie, because they always looked deeper than the callous, flippant remarks; they always wanted to know the reason and the secrets, and Rosalie couldn't bear for people to find out.

So, now, with the two new arrivals, there were eight people clustered together in the small house, waiting out the snowstorm. It would be a few days before the weather had improved enough for them to get outside. However, a lot of things can happen in an enclosed space in the time span of just a few days.


	2. Chapter 2

_In The Snowstorm_

_Chapter Two:_

The moonlight that filtered in through Irina's bedroom window was flecked with spinning, racing shadows: the snow, falling and tumbling across the night sky. It was just after ten o'clock, and Irina was fuming. She had just been told that she was going to have to share her room with one of the travellers. There was already a camp bed set up in the corner, but Irina refused to let her ice blue eyes stray towards it. Instead, she directed her steely glare towards the ceiling and listened to the conversation in the next room. It was muffled by the wall and the closed door, but she could still hear the irritating, high pitched voice of the tiny, black haired traveller as she jabbered on and on about something irrelevant. Irina hoped she wouldn't' have to share her room with that one, whatever her name was. That little girl was too loud, excitable and friendly for Irina to deal with. She would fill the silences that Irina loved so much; crowd out the low, quiet thoughts that filled her head. She would drive her insane.

A few minutes later, the bedroom door creaked open, letting the warm, orange firelight spill in, along with the noise.

Carmen poked her head around the door, a smiled on her face, as usual. Irina stared back at her, no emotion on her sharp, stunning features. It wasn't that she disliked Carmen; in fact, she loved her like the mother she should have loved. She liked how Carmen was so thoughtful and kind. She knew when to leave, she knew when to stay. The only trouble was, Carmen was always trying to get Irina involved in whatever was happening; the two of them couldn't understand each other, at all, and it left and awkward, almost jealous, tentative air between them.

"Why don't you come and join us, Irina, sweetheart?" Carmen said in her quiet, lilting, Spanish voice. That was another thing Irina liked about her: she wasn't too loud.

Irina just shook her head. Disappointment rose up in Carmen's big brown eyes, even though she had known before hand that Irina would respond that way. Carmen just wanted a family; a perfect, friendly little family. With her, it was the more the merrier; with Irina, it was the less the better.

"You should come and meet our guests, Irina," Carmen said, moving to perch on the edge of the camp bed. She knew she shouldn't sit on Irina's own bed unless she was invited; no one should ever invade Irina's space without being invited.

"I don't want to," Irina whispered back.

There was a silence.

"Okay, sweetheart," Carmen agreed eventually. "If you change your mind, you're welcome to join us," she added, knowing full well that there was no chance of that happening.

Carmen walked out of the room, back into the warm living room, where four members of her family and two strangers were seated in a semi circle before the fire, drinking wine or hot chocolate and eating homemade cakes and biscuits.

Carmen curled up on a small, burnt orange sofa beside her husband and daughter and looked around at the cluster of people. Vasilii was grinning and sipping her hot chocolate, the large mug nearly covering her entire face; Eleazer was laughing loudly at a joke someone had made, with a half eaten slice of cake in his large hand; Kate and Tanya were sitting together in the armchair, laughing and joking and communicating in a way that only twins could; Alice, the small, elfin guest, was nibbling a cookie as she chattered away to everyone as though she had known them forever; the other guest, Rosalie, was causally plating her golden hair and occasionally offering a sarcastic, funny comment in between sips of her red wine.

The glass of red wine was her first, but it wouldn't be the last; she was sipping it slowly, but there was a burning, gnawing monster in her stomach that urged her to gulp it all down in one, and then find the bottle and swallow all of that in one, aswell. She knew that she would get up in the night, sneak into the kitchen and find all the alcohol and drink it all. She also knew that she would regret that in the morning, when she woke up to a pounding headache and suspicious, worried glares from Alice, aswell as the confusion of the owners of this house.

But she didn't care about that. This alcohol was what she needed; it was a desperate desire that wouldn't leave her alone; it scrambled her brain and drove her crazy. She would get her fix.

Alice was half watching Rosalie out of the corner of her brown eyes. She could see the wine in Rosalie's glass and wished it wasn't there. It was clear to Alice that Rosalie was alcoholic; it wasn't something they discussed because, even with Alice, Rosalie didn't talk about her emotions and problems. But Alice loved the tall, troubled, blonde girl like the sister she never had; and, like any sister, she saw everything and longed to make everything right. However, they'd spent a lot of time together, and so Alice had learnt where the line was and when she should and shouldn't cross it. The subject of alcohol was definitely too far across the line and Alice brave enough to venture there. She'd seen Rosalie mad and she'd seen her murderously angry; at those times, she'd often felt like one of the tiny fish that swims right beside a shark, cleaning its skin: there was no way she was going to get too close to the jaws.

So, she sat there on the couch beside the fire, with a cookie in her hand, talking in her typical so-fast-it's-barely-audible way, trying to forget the thoughts that implored her to knock the wine from her best friend's hand. She was having too much fun talking to these new people; she didn't want to ruin it.

Two hours later, when all the cakes and biscuits had been eaten and all the hot chocolate and wine drunk, the conversation gradually petered out. Vasilii had fallen asleep against her Mom's arm a while ago; leaving Eleazer to tidy away the glasses and plates, Carmen gently pulled the child into her arms and carried her into the bedroom that the three of them shared. After placing Vasilii in the little girl's single bed, she closed the shutters and the curtains. After pressing her lips to her daughter's forehead, Carmen changed into a dark red nightdress and an orange silk dressing gown.

When she walked back into the living room, Kate was pointing a hyper Alice towards to the room that she would be sharing with Irina and a shy Tanya was taking Rosalie towards Tanya and Kate's room, which they would be sharing with Rosalie.

Tanya was cursing her own nerves; this was her chance to figure out the formidable, mysterious Goddess that was Rosalie Hale. But, if she kept stuttering every time she spoke, it was unlikely that she would discover any of Rosalie's secrets. That's the curse of the daydreamer: so many questions, no idea how to ask them.

Inside Tanya and Kate's room, it was clear how different their personalities were. The right side, where Tanya's bed was, the walls were decorated with sea-green wallpaper, sketches and Tanya's amateur photography, aswell as a thick notebook and blue pen that lay on the pillow. On Kate's side, there was a shelf on the poster covered wall filled with rock and Indie CDs, some computer games, a small stereo and PSP.

Against the other wall stood the small camp bed that Rosalie had to sleep on for the next few nights. Tanya looked from the small, uncomfortable bed to Rosalie. With her strong, straight posture and blonde hair, she looked far too regal to sleep on the tiny camp bed.

"I know it's a bit small..." Tanya said apologetically.

Rosalie turned and looked at the small ginger girl; her hostile, unimpressed look reminded Tanya of Irina. She tried to imagine Irina sleeping on a camp bed; it was as impossible as imagining Rosalie there.

Just then, Kate sauntered into the room and Tanya breathed an internal sigh of relief. Things were always easier and more relaxed with Kate around; she just had that way with people. It was probably her casual attitude; the way that nothing seemed to bother her.

She flopped back onto her bed now, clearly not fazed by the arrival of a hostile, beautiful woman in her bedroom. She pulled her thin, straight, white blonde hair out of the elastic band that had been holding it back in a ponytail at the nape of her neck. Then, she dropped a CD into her stereo player and pressed play, keeping the volume low, before turning to her sister and her guest.

"I hope you like Paramore, Rose," she said, motioning towards the stereo. "'Cause I'm not gonna to be turning it off."

Rosalie slowly turned towards Kate and folded her arms across her chest. "Who said you could call me Rose?"

Kate smiled. "Sorry," she said. Even though she was lying on the bed, though, and clearly the weaker person in the situation, she wasn't at all threatened.

Then, as Rosalie walked over to the camp bed and sat down, Kate stood up and tugged her blue t-shirt off over her head. She finished getting changed, as she did every night, not changing her behaviour at all even though there was a stranger in her room.

Rosalie was uncomfortable, and pissed off. Why couldn't these people just go to sleep, so she could get her fix? Oh, but this was ridiculous; they were both shamelessly taking their clothes off in front of her. Well, there was no way she was joining in with that; no way in hell was she making herself vulnerable.

"I'm going to get changed," she muttered as she snatched up the pyjamas that Carmen had left on her bed and stalked away to the bathroom, where she could get some privacy.

Meanwhile, in Irina's room, things were going even more badly. When Alice had first danced into the room, she'd introduced herself immediately: "Hi! I'm Alice!"

However, she'd received no response from Irina; the tall, ghost-like girl had remained perfectly still on her bed, glowering at the ceiling. Even now, after Alice had changed into the pink cotton shorts and cartoon-character tank top that Carmen had given her to wear to bed, Irina still hadn't moved a muscle. Alice had made continual attempts at conversation, but each one had been ignored. So, perching cross-legged on her camp bed, Alice was feeling more than a little upset and annoyed.

"You know, you could at least be polite enough to say: 'I'm sorry, I don't want to talk to you right now'," Alice said, her usually chirpy voice low with irritation.

There was silence from Irina.

Alice sighed and fell down onto her pillow. She hoped that she would be able to get a more civil response from Irina in the morning; she was optimistic, as usual, and told herself that the two of them would be good friends by the time the next day was out. With that thought in her mind, she fell asleep with a smile on her face.

Little did she know, Irina was not going to be anywhere as easy as that to crack. However, when she did eventually crack her, they would have a more complicated relationship that just 'good friends'. Miles more complicated.


	3. Chapter 3

_In The Snowstorm_

_A/N:_

Sorry for the delay in uploading. I've worked out a schedule now, so I should post regularly... but if I don't post a part at least once a week, sent me a private message cos changes are I will have forgotten.

_Chapter Three:_

It was difficult for Rosalie to find her way round a house that she didn't know, but she was managing. She hadn't walked into anything yet, and she was pretty sure that she knew where the kitchen was: out of the room she was sleeping in, through the large living room, open the door on the right – thank God it didn't creak – and then search through the dark for the fridge.

When she felt the smooth, cool plastic beneath her groping hand, she grinned to herself. When she opened the door, a soft yellow light spilled out, highlighting her and the spot on the tiled floor that she was standing on. For a second, she felt like a criminal caught in a torch beam; a truanting child spotted by a teacher. But then she remembered that everyone else was asleep. There was no one to see her here; no one to look shocked and embarrassed; no one to feel pity for her and her 'problem'.

Inside the fridge, there was one bottle of sherry and one bottle of red wine. She wasn't a massive fan of sherry, being more of a fan of the harsh, sudden kick given by vodka, but it would do. She pulled the bottle out of the fridge, feeling its cold, wet surface beneath her fingertips. Her hand shook as she unscrewed the lid and took a swig.

Ah, sweet satisfaction.

But it wasn't enough. No sooner had she swallowed the first mouthful than the hungry wolves in her stomach reared their heads and howled, demanding more. She wasn't going to deny them. She wasn't going to deny herself.

It was sweet bliss: warmth sliding down her throat, quenching the thirst whilst at the same time causing her to need more, more, more. She closed her eyes and let the liquid flood down inside of her; it wasn't a want, it was a need; it wasn't a drink, it was a heartbeat, a breath of air after being under water for so long that you feel your lungs will burst.

But then the sound came. Tap, tap, tap, tap. Bare feet: they echo so loudly in the middle of the night. And even louder still when they have shattered a perfect diamond of satisfaction and are about to shed light upon a terrible secret: Rosalie's terrible secret.

She froze still, the bottle still raised incriminatingly to her lips. There was no where to run; no where to hide. Her heart thudded hard in her chest. Her mouth still watered for the alcohol, oblivious to the fact that she was in terrible danger.

Her wide, terrified eyes saw the interrupter as soon as her tiny form stepped through the door. Tanya.

Her ginger hair waved smoothly over one side of her face. For half a second, in between two loud pounds of her heartbeat, Rosalie wanted nothing more than the push that silky hair back; the stroke it with her fingertips...

Then three things happened simultaneously: Rosalie's heart thumped again; the bottle slid from her hand and shattered on the floor; and Tanya's always curious blue eyes spotted her.

Tanya gasped, her pale pink lips falling apart into an 'O' of shock.

"Rosalie!" she whisper-shouted, sensitive to the silence all around. "What are you doing?"

Her eyes darted from Rosalie's frozen features to the bottle on the floor; back up to Rosalie's face and then down to her hand, which was still poised as though holding a bottle. A bottle which was now in pieces on the floor.

But Tanya had a good imagination; it didn't take her long to put the pieces together and create an elaborate picture of not only what was going on right now, but what could have happened to Rosalie in the past to lead up to this, aswell as two intricate paths: two possible futures.

She felt that she was watching from a distance. She was the author, and she had to decide what to do with these two characters. It wasn't a role she was used to; normally, when she wrote stories, the characters took control and wrote themselves. But she knew that, now, nobody was going to make this decision for her. Chances were someone else in the house had been woken up when the bottle shattered on the floor. She didn't have much time before this situation was tugged from her control.

So she did the only thing that felt right; the only instinct alive inside her: hide. Hide the evidence, and run. It was what she always did whenever she was in trouble; now, she moved like lightning, with adrenaline shaking her bones, because she smiled slightly as she realised what this meant: she was beginning to unravel the enigma and discover the secrets. She'd found the location of the key that would open the treasure trunk. Now, she only had to retrieve it and unlock it.

Tanya hurried across the room and grabbed the dustpan and brush form the side. With a few quick motions, she'd wiped all the pieces of glass up and dumped them in the bin. When someone found them, Tanya would say that she'd got up in the night, in search of a glass of milk, and accidentally knocked the sherry onto the floor.

Tiptoeing out of the room, she signalled with her hand that Rosalie should follow her. They walked together into the bathroom where, without switching on the light, Tanya's long, thin fingers found a bottle of mint mouthwash.

"Rinse your mouth with this five times," Tanya said to Rosalie, handing over the large bottle. It felt weird to be telling someone else what to do; normally, she was able to rely on Kate for that.

Rosalie did as she was told, all the while not looking at Tanya. There was a sliver of dull light in the room, which was creeping in through a gap in the curtains that covered the small, frosted glass window. In the vague illumination, Tanya could see how Rosalie chucked her head back sharply to get the mouth wash into her mouth, and how she closed her eyes when she spat it into the sink. Her blonde, curled eyelashes brushed against her round, strawberries-and-cream cheeks.

Her hair tumbled over her shoulders, like liquid gold. There were a million different tones in the lustrous waves and curls: gold, amber, bronze, yellow, topaz, chocolate, toffee, caramel... it was blonde and brown and all the varying shades in between.

Even though Tanya wasn't sure she believed in supernatural Gods, she felt that Rosalie might be proof that they existed. She seemed to be an angel, or even a Goddess, fallen to earth. Surely she had to be a fallen angel: there could be no innocence and purity in someone so beautiful. She was almost a demon, she was that gorgeous. It must be a sin to leave people so spellbound; it must be a sin for Rosalie to capture Tanya's gaze so easily and completely.

But then she'd finished rinsing her mouth, and Tanya blinked twice. What was that, she wondered. Butt hen she shrugged it off; a trick of the light, and her over reactive imagination. It wasn't like Tanya to ignore her emotions, though. Normally, she flowed along with them, creating poems or storylines filled with romance and tears and hate.

It was a very significant event for Tanya to ignore her feelings; to ignore the poem her heart was trying to formulate. She didn't know at the time, but she was just scared; terrified that she was falling head over heels for someone who was so out of reach. Unrequited love had always been a feature in the stories she wrote, and she had always brought it to a happy ending. Right then, though, as she tiptoed with Rosalie back to her room, she couldn't see a happy ending. She couldn't see any sort of ending, because she couldn't bear to let herself imagine any sort of story.

Little did she know, she was standing at the start of a tangled, romantic, passionate, scary story that would consume her whole life, so that, when it was over, she would have nothing left.


	4. Chapter 4

_In The Snowstorm_

_Chapter Four:_

Rosalie was out of bed at five twenty-two, before the sun had risen. She hadn't been able to sleep, because her mind was spinning with thousands of thoughts and feelings, all jostling for position as the predominant emotion, the thought that got most attention. She couldn't focus on one for more than two seconds before another sprung up and blocked the previous one out.

She walked through the living room in the dark and sat down on the sofa, pulling her legs up and resting her chin on her knees. Her eyes were aching, so she closed them, but that only intensified the foul taste in her mouth: the biter residue left by alcohol and mint mouthwash. She ran her tongue across her lips, but they still felt dry. Her hair, which was falling down over her face, tickled her skin and irritated her. That was odd: she never found her hair irritating.

But it wasn't the only odd and irritating thing that was bothering her that night. There was a great long list of irritating and odd things, and Rosalie had never been a fan of lists. They forced her to think; forced her to put neatly put everything together, which meant she had to face up to it. And there was nothing Rosalie hated more than facing up to things.

So, instead of trying to make sense of the loud thoughts that were racing round her head like motorcyclists on speed, she tried to block them out. Or at least blur them enough that she couldn't hear the words. The noise she could handle. It was the words and their meanings that stressed her out and sent her running for the vodka bottle, double time.

But there was no vodka in this house, so she had to sit still and think about anything other than drinking. Apart from the thoughts that were making her head pound. She couldn't think of them, either. She needed a distraction... something to take her mind off it...

Meanwhile, back in the bedroom, Tanya's thoughts refused to be blocked out. Not that she was trying. Her dreams were weaving their pleasant way through her mind, and she was smiling as she lay sleeping on her side. Her arms were folded up by her chest, with her fingers covering her face. She would only just about remember the dream when she woke up, but right now she lost inside it. In her dream, they were outside, her and Kate. The blizzard had stopped, and the pale yellow sunlight was reflecting sharply off the perfect, crisp, white snow. Tanya fell down into it in slow motion, feeling every tiny bit of the snow as it touched her skin. She was naked, she realised, but she wasn't cold: the snow was the same temperature as her body as she lay on her back, smiling up at the pale blue sky. Kate was leaning over her, a casual grin on her face. The sharp sunlight shone on Kate's blonde hair, and it changed; she wasn't Kate anymore, with her straight, white blonde hair looking even whiter in the light: it was a beautiful goddess, with long, golden snakes for hair and intense, violet eyes surrounded by thick, curled lashes. It was Rosalie.

Rosalie wasn't smiling as she leant over Tanya. Her pink, glossy lips were parted slightly as she lowered her body over Tanya's. Tanya suddenly felt cold, and then she was burning. A blazing hot fire licked along her skin from her toes to her head and back again: Rosalie was kissing her, kissing every inch of her bare skin, chasing and leading the flames as her lips pressed against Tanya's thighs, hips, stomach, breasts, neck, face, eyelids, lips... And then their tongues slid hungrily together as the scenery changed from snowy outdoors to a bedroom. The pair were lying on a feather bed; dark red silken sheets had been tossed savagely across the room. Their hands groped hungrily, passionately; Rosalie leading, Tanya following. Their tongues danced as their hot, naked bodies pressed closer and closer together. It was so good, and Tanya felt herself moaning as Rosalie's fingers-

Tanya's eyes burst open. _Holy shit,_ she thought, as the rapidly fading dream reverberated in her mind. _Holy fucking shit._

That was what she wanted. She couldn't deny it. There was still a faint throbbing between her legs; as the ecstasy waned, she began to feel an aching sense of loss. That dream was gone now, and it had been so good. There was no way she would ever get that again; no way that she would be able to experience it in real life.

Waking up more now, she quietly sat up and looked around the dark room. Kate was asleep in her bed, her white blonde hair sprawled on the pillow beside her. Tanya could hear the words Kate was mumbling under her breath: _no one is as lucky as us; we're not at the end but, we've already won._ Paramore lyrics, Tanya realised.

She looked further around the room, her eyes drawn to where Rosalie was sleeping. Or, at least, where she should have been sleeping: the camp bed was empty, the duvet shoved to one side. Rosalie was up and about again; twice in one night. Tanya wondered what was keeping Rosalie awake, feeling the same desire she'd felt when she'd first seen her: she wanted to unravel Rosalie. But it wasn't just her incessant curiosity, she realised now: she wanted to be with Rosalie, to sleep with her.

And that was weird.

So they were both weird, as they sat awake, alone in the dark. But there was one shocking difference between them: Tanya wanted to think, to know, to discover; Rosalie wanted to forget and erase things that, right now, she barely knew that she was feeling.

But some things won't be erased; some things can't be erased. And some things are bound to happen. Not because of fate, not because of a destined path set in stone: because of desire; hot, smouldering desire. Things were set in motion. The fire of want, of craving, was beginning to spark up inside Tanya and Rosalie. They were going to get burned, and only one of them would make it out alive.


	5. Chapter 5

_In The Snowstorm_

_A/N:_

I haven't updated. At all. For ages. But the other day I decided that I was going to update as much as possible on all of my stories. So far, I've done one more chapter on Inevitable and The Sparrow & the Dove. Now I'm doing this one. I think I've managed to find a way to write about Irina... oh, btw: sorry if you hate her, but, right now, she is very hateable.

_Chapter Five:_

Irina hated the snowstorm that kept them all inside. She hated it with the sort of passion that she normally reserved for people who called her emo and for anyone who was cruel to her family.

She hated the snowstorm with that level of passion, because it was messing with her routine, and her life. It was also keeping everyone in the house, which Irina hated, because it made her feel crowded and claustrophobic. And, to make things worse, she was having to share her room – _her room_ – with a complete stranger; a complete stranger who liked to talk. A lot. A complete stranger who, right at that very moment, was nattering on like a very annoying, high pitched bee.

"-and then we all ran down the hill, screaming, and I was so scared, because wasps are so scary, don't you think? And I was screaming really loud, and then I tripped over a twig, so I screamed even louder, and..."

Irina let the stranger's voice fade away again. But she couldn't make it fade completely; the stranger's way of talking was too loud, fast, and high frequency for Irina to ignore it completely. It reminded her of a girl called Jessica down at the high school, except the stranger's voice was even higher pitched, and, shockingly, even more annoying. But that was probably because Irina and the stranger and the stranger's annoying voice were stuck together in Irina's tiny room.

And, Irina couldn't tell the stranger to leave because Irina always went stonily silent in the company of people she hated. Meanwhile, the stranger jabbered on... and on... and on.

The stranger's name was Alice, but Irina was refusing to refer to her by her name, because that made her human, and that made her feel a little tiny, tiny bit guilty when she imagined all the many gruesome to make her shut up.

Alice didn't know any of this, because Alice was talking. It wasn't that she liked the sound of her own voice – unlike the girl called Jessica – or that she didn't care for what others had to say – unlike the girl called Jessica. It was just that she got excited. Alice loved meeting new people; she loved socialising and anything that was alive and could possibly become her friend made her happy.

But Alice wasn't all bubbles and rainbows and laughter, as much as she really loved all those things. When you got past the fact that she almost entirely unaffected by the mood of the room around her, and the fact that she was easily distracted, she was a really nice and sensitive person.

That was what Rosalie always said. She always said that, though she couldn't stand people who were as superficial as Alice seemed, she absolutely adored Alice, because, if Alice was your closest friend, and you were Alice's closest friend, then she was completely aware of your moods. The people she knew well, she knew really well. She could spot instantly if Rosalie was upset, and she would always try to help. However, she always knew when she had gone too far, and when she should pull back. Pull back really fast, because Rosalie wasn't the type to sit back and allow people to cross the very solid, steel-spiked line that she drew.

Tanya was dangerously close to crossing that line; she was dangerously close to bypassing it completely and skipping right through all Rosalie's defences. Tanya had already seen Rosalie weak. Tanya had already, without realising it, consumed all of Rosalie's thoughts. Everything – eating, sleeping, getting dressed – somehow led Rosalie back to thoughts of Tanya.

She still didn't know why she was feeling the way she felt about Tanya, because she didn't yet fully know what it was that she was feeling. All she knew was that there was a raging conflict inside her. Two strong wishes were warring inside her, making her stomach churn and her head spin.

On one side was Rosalie's reaction to anything weird and confusing and potentially painful: run for the fucking hills, get out the there, don't you fucking dare start to feel anything, just run!

On the other side was a desire that she couldn't explain, couldn't describe, and couldn't understand. It was a desire that she hadn't felt in years and years; it was a desire that she had squashed and destroyed. But now it was back, stronger than ever. It was the desire to _stay_. The stay, and feel, and love, and trust. It was the desire to stop running and hiding. It was the desire to let her defences fall and to give herself to one person and one person only, forever.

Irina wasn't thinking any such nonsense. The only desires competing in her were the desire to rip Alice's tongue out and the desire to slice it slowly and painfully down the centre.

But, as usual, such impulsive desires built on instant hatred fade. And Irina's desire to make Alice suffer, or at least avoid her, would fade. It would take time, and she would fight desperately and furiously against it, but eventually she would start to feel something else... something that was the opposite of hatred, but at the same time grew out of it. Irina would start to feel a different sort of passion for Alice... a passion that would, one day, blossom into something beautiful.

_A/N:_

Sorry it's so short. Review, please.


	6. Author's Note

Author's Note:

I'll keep this short: I'm done. I'm not going to be writing any of my twilight fanfics anymore, because I'm not interested in twilight anymore.

Basically, this is what happened: I'd already been tiring of twilight for a while – in fact, the fanfics had been my only link to the whole thing for a long time – and then I went to see Deathly Hallows Part 2 with my family. And I became obsessed. I remembered what I'd been missing for so long, and I went back to my childhood and Harry Potter. I went home and I re-read the whole series. I think I was half-way through Chamber of Secrets when I decided that I was going to become more obsessed with this than I ever was with twilight. And that's really saying a lot.

So, I write Harry Potter fanfics now, on my new account, ravenclawhalfbloodprince. I don't know if any of you will want to, but if you do, check out my new stuff. I'm also going to move some of my one-shots to my new accounts at some point.

That's about it. Sorry if you really liked this stuff or anything. Thanks for reading, and reviewing if you did. All of that really did mean a lot to me, honest. But I'm moving on to a Harry Potter era now. So, have fun reading whatever you read, guys.

Bye.


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